


grip

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Always Female Stiles Stilinski, Ass Play, Cis Female Stiles Stilinski, Daddy Kink, Dom Chris Argent, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Orgasm Delay, Punishment, Rule 63, Sex Toys, Spanking, Sub Stiles Stilinski, Teasing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 16:24:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: “Do I have your attention, baby?”She nods, but doesn’t speak. She’s still trying to catch her breath, and her legs are trembling.“Good. Because I’m only going to say this once.” He waits until she’s looking him in the eye, then growls, “I expect you to behave.”





	grip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Triangulum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/gifts).



> This is trash. This is self-indulgent, plotless spanking trash. Because I needed a reason to go on, whilst marooned in the jungles of longfic hell. Bunnywest enabled, because it's what she does best. <3 
> 
> Enjoy the porn, and have a good weekend!

 

 

The worst part—the absolute _worst_ part—of all this is the look on his face. All soft and disappointed. Because if he was angry, she could drum up some righteous indignation. As it is, she just hangs her head, because she knew when she did it that it was breaking the rules, that she was going to be punished.

She just didn’t realize he’d actually make her feel bad about it.

(She’s always thought it was a stupid rule. She’s an adult, she can take care of herself—)

“Bathroom,” he murmurs, all quiet command, like he knows she won’t fight him about it.

He’s right, and she doesn’t say anything as he strips her down and bends her over the bathroom counter. When she sees the lube and set of beads, she knows this was planned. That he knew, somehow, before she even got here, but he still waited her out and let her confess.

He places one big hand on the small of her back before he starts. It’s not to hold her down—his hand is heavy, but not like that—just to steady her as his fingers pet firmly over puckered skin that has no business being as sensitive as it is. She can’t quite hold in her whine when his finger pushes in, but it’s not a pain-noise, so he doesn’t stop.

She doesn’t think she wants him to. She’s getting wet, and she _hates_ that she is, that she’s already starting to squirm with the desire to be filled up, that he knows how to play her body so well, but Chris is nothing if not thorough, and would never have been satisfied with less.

The hand at her lower back disappears as he slicks up the set of beads, then comes back to hold her cheeks open. She ducks her head to avoid her reflection.

“Deep breath baby, and let it out slowly,” he rumbles, and she obeys.

He works the beads in deliberately, methodically. She’s pretty sure he takes the exact same amount of time coaxing each one past her rim, and with every bead, she gets wetter, _needier_ , more desperate to be filled up where it really counts. She’d beg, if she thought it would get her anywhere, but she knows better, so she gnaws her bottom lip instead.

“Don’t move.”

“I won’t,” she whispers, but he doesn’t answer, just washes his hands.

“Alright. Up you get,” the hand on the back of her neck guides her upright, and stays put as he walks her into the bedroom. When he lets go, she sways—she’s already going under like a ton of bricks, and the lost contact makes her feel unmoored, dizzy.

He settles himself on the bed, propped up against the pillows and headboard, and then pats his thighs. “Over my knee, baby.”

She nods, and breathes easier, hearing him call her that. If he’s still calling her “baby”, he’s not mad. Disappointed, maybe, quieter than usual, but not mad. She drapes herself across his thighs, knowing what’s coming next.

She still gasps when Daddy’s hand cracks across her ass cheek. “I’m not sure why, exactly, you decided to disobey me, but there are consequences to that.” His hand falls again, and she jerks, breath stuttering, clenching around the beads and sending _want_ racing up her spine. He’s not tempering his blows, not warming her up with the usual playful taps, and it’s a reminder that, for all he’s human, there’s a frightening amount of strength lurking in that lean frame.

“’m sorry, I—”

“Oh, we’ll get to that later,” he interrupts, layering several blows across the crease and tops of her thighs. “For right now, you’re going to be good and take your spanking.”

“Ye-es, Daddy,” she gasps, then buries her face in the bedding.

The pleased hum he gives lets her know he heard it, but he doesn’t say anything, just continues bringing his hand down on her backside until it feels like her butt’s glowing, the skin prickling and tingling in delicious pleasure-pain.

She’s soaked the leg of his jeans by the time it stops, and she mewls. She doesn’t know if she can take more, but she doesn’t know what it means, that he stopped. Is it over? Will he leave her like this?

Before she can work herself into a proper upset, Daddy hushes her as he helps her up. He manoeuvres her onto her back, smirking when her well-spanked hide makes contact with the blankets, and she whines.

“Comfortable?”

She squirms, and possibly pouts a little. “No,” she whimpers, because she’s desperate to come, and the feel of the blanket is confusing—she’s hypersensitive, and every drag of the soft fleece against her butt sends another wave of heat through the abused skin.

Daddy smiles, and it’s hungry. “Good. Now,” he grips her legs, bending them up and pushing them apart until she’s spread out beneath him, “hold them there.”

Stiles curls her hands around the backs of her knees, holding herself open, and he nods. “Don’t let go until I say, understand?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

She doesn’t get any warning before he brings his hand down on her exposed cunt. She shrieks when he makes contact, her whole body jerking at the sensation. She stares up at him, mouth open, trying to breathe past the possibly-lethal arousal. It hurts, but it doesn’t. Not really. Not when he just used his fingers, when he barely tapped her, but it was _right_ over her clit and she’s wet and swollen and so desperate for stimulation that it made her toes curl.

“Do I have your attention, baby?”

She nods, but doesn’t speak. She’s still trying to catch her breath, and her legs are trembling.

“Good. Because I’m only going to say this once.” He waits until she’s looking him in the eye, then growls, “ _I expect you to behave_.” He brings his hand down with every syllable, giving her pussy a series of cruelly-perfect slaps.

She’s shaking and tense, eyes clouded with tears and halfway to orgasm when he stops. “Daddy, _please_ —please, I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, please let me come!”

He hums, and then there are fingers sinking inside her like a hot knife through butter. They twist, and she mewls, rocking against his hand. She bites her lip when he withdraws so she doesn’t sob.

“I don’t know, baby. I really shouldn’t reward bad behaviour.”

“Please, Daddy, I won’t do it again, promise!” She’d promise just about anything right now, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t _mean_ it.

“Well, in that case,” he trails off, and then unzips. He doesn’t undress all the way, just shoves everything down far enough to let his cock spring free.

And then he holds her open with his thumbs, and rolls forwards, in and in and in until he’s buried to the hilt, and she’s gasping at the fullness. Between the beads in her ass and the cock in her cunt, she’s never been this full, never ridden this edge of too-much-not-enough. It’s so much. She’s panting, but it feels like she’s not getting any air.

Daddy doesn’t stop, though, just smirks as he begins to thrust, and she’s can’t do anything but take it—arching and pushing into every snap of his hips and clenching helplessly around him and the beads as she shakes her way closer and closer to coming.

“Please Daddy—” she whimpers, unable to finish asking and hoping he knows anyway.

“No,” he grunts, hips rutting. “I didn’t say you could let go, and I’m not rewarding your brattiness.” He pants, getting close himself—she can see it in the red across his cheeks, the bruising grip he has on her waist. “You can come on my cock or not at all.”

She gives a wordless cry when he drops down on top of her, nearly bending her in half and pushing against her g-spot. She comes—hands straining to hold her legs as sweat collects in the hollows behind her knees, because Daddy didn’t say she could let go—when he bites at her nipple, tumbling freely into bliss at the extra bit of sensation.

He follows her down, groaning as he spills. She lies there, unable to move until he smiles softly as he coaxes her hands into unclenching from where they’ve cramped, easing her legs down. She stays in the ridiculous sprawl, trying to catch her breath as gun-callused fingertips trail up her thigh, feeling like forgiveness and temptation both.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Plz direct all search parties [here](https://queerfictionwriter.tumblr.com/)


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